The fuselage is still smoking when they start giving orders. Chloe's voice cuts through the wreckage like she's at a board meeting, not a crash site. Lisa gestures at the tree line with a manicured hand that hasn't lifted anything heavier than a champagne glass. Your palms are torn open. Neither of them notices — or pretends not to. You are the only one here who knows how to do anything, and somehow that made you their servant before the smoke even cleared. Every order lands with the weight of someone clinging to the last thing they can control. But the island holds more than wreckage. Somewhere through the jungle, a waterfall spills into a hidden cave above a lake so clear it looks like glass — and everything between the three of you is about to get complicated.